


Westeros School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

by IgnisEtGlacies13



Series: GOT/HP Crossovers [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Gen, Herbology, M/M, Shovel Talk, Sneaking Out, Thestrals, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7180856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnisEtGlacies13/pseuds/IgnisEtGlacies13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GoT/HP crossover headcanons brought to life!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret (Gen)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [youbuggme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/youbuggme/pseuds/youbuggme) for letting me write in this verse, and tolerating all the headcanons I threw at her ;) 
> 
> For clarity reasons, the name of the POV character and their year of schooling will be at the beginning of each chapter. Since every chapter will feature a different character and scenario, I feel that this way it'll be easier to keep track of what happens when.

 

**Jon (Second Year)**

The muffled voices overhead gradually roused Jon from his state of unconsciousness. Before opening his eyes, he automatically catalogued all the fresh injuries he'd accumulated during the night: sore left wrist – meaning he'd probably broken it and Master Qyburn had already mended it – aching bruises along his left leg, stinging cuts on both his arms, and exhaustion in every muscle in his body.

As he ticked them off his mental checklist, the indistinct voices became clearer and clearer until they sharpened into comprehensible words.

“I didn't know he would look this bad,” said one person mournfully. “He looks like he came off worse in a duel with Professor Lannister.”

Jon’s fuzzy head tried to place the familiar-sounding voice. It sounded a bit like Pyp’s, but that was absurd because there was no way Pyp would be in the hospital wing -

“We’ve all seen the injuries he hides or finds excuses for every month. I reckon our presence angered him and made it worse.”

_Sam?_

Jon’s eyes snapped open. All his friends - Sam, Pyp, Grenn, Gilly, and Ygritte - were huddled around his bed like a Quidditch team discussing strategies. Except, they seemed to be discussing _him_.

_Why are they here? They don’t know that I’m a –_

“Jon, you’re awake!” exclaimed Gilly, her brown eyes locking onto him. “How are you feeling?”

Before he could lie and say he felt fine, Sam blurted, “We're very, very sorry about last night. I swear, if I'd known I would have stopped them, or at least tried to -”

“Back up,” Jon cut in, his tired mind failing to keep up with Sam’s babble. He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead. “What happened last night?”

Sam froze. “You - you don't remember?”

Jon frantically racked his brain. His memories of full moon nights were often muddled, like a series of blurred images placed out of order in his head. He vaguely remembered loud, agitated voices, the scent of blood, a flash of red hair –

_Wait_. The clues clicked in his mind, and his entire body stiffened. If Sam was referring to something Jon did _last night_ , that would mean -

Ygritte must have seen the comprehension dawning in Jon’s expression. “Yeah,” she said.  “We know you're a werewolf.”

Horror fizzed through Jon’s veins, and for a moment he completely forgot to breathe. He’d had nightmares of his friends finding out his biggest secret, but he was definitely awake at the moment and this wasn’t a bad dream he could wish away by waking up.  

“How?” he choked out.  

“Grenn and I were returning to our dorms after detention,” answered Pyp. “We saw Professor Tarth taking you through the secret passage that leads to the Whomping Willow.”

Jon silently cursed the fact that his friends’ nighttime explorations had led to them discovering that particular passageway.

“Since you were supposedly visiting your sick grandfather in St. Mungo’s, that was kind of a red flag,” added Grenn. “So I went to get Ygritte, and Pyp fetched Sam and Gilly.”

Jon frowned at Pyp. “How did you get to Sam when he's not even in your House?”

Pyp gave a casual shrug. “The Ravenclaw password’s just a riddle, and I solved it.”  

“No, it was an old riddle that you heard me answer before,” Sam sighed. “Anyway, after we were sure Professor Tarth had left, we went down the tunnel and reached the Whomping Willow. Because there were weird baying sounds coming from inside the tree, we tried to get inside, but predictably the tree tried to kill us all.”  

“Somehow Ygritte managed to dodge all the branches and slip inside the tree unharmed,” continued Pyp. “And, well, she found you. As a wolf.”

Jon inhaled sharply. “Did I hurt you?”

Ygritte hesitated, and Jon’s heart stopped. She must have seen the panicked expression on his face because she quickly amended, “Just a scratch. I barely felt it.”   

“Gods,” said Jon, appalled at himself. “What if I'd bitten you? Any of you?”

“You didn't –” started Gilly.

“But I could have.”

Silence fell across the room. Jon noticed his friends exchange awkward looks, and decided he might as well spare them the trouble of informing him and just say it himself.

“It's alright,” Jon said quietly. “You don't have to say it. I understand.”

If anything, they looked even more confused. “Er…what don’t we have to say?” asked Sam tentatively.

Jon hoped the misery and regret churning in his gut wasn’t visible on his face. “That you don’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

Sam blinked. “ _What?_ ”

“Really, I understand,” he repeated. “Last night I could have turned you into werewolves, or _killed_ you, and I can’t control that. I’m a danger to –”

“Wait,” Ygritte cut in, her tone bordering on a snarl. “You think we’re going to _stop being friends with you?”_  

“…You’re not?”

Her eyes blazed. “Of course not!”

“We thought _you_ were going to be angry at _us_ ,” said Gilly softly. “Since you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“How can I be angry? I’m the one who kept such a dangerous secret from all of you." Jon's hands tightened around the bedsheets. "This is why I didn’t plan on making friends when I started school, because I knew the moment they learned I’m a werewolf they’d back off and –”

“If you really believe that we’d leave you just because you’re a werewolf,” Ygritte interrupted, “then you really do know nothing.”

Jon opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Sam jumped in. “She’s right, you know. You’re only a danger when it’s a full moon – otherwise you’re like any other human. And it’s obvious that you’ve taken precautions to make sure you don’t hurt anyone after you’ve transformed.”

“Yes, but…” Jon struggled to think of a way for them to see his point of view. All he could think of was the day his Aunt Lysa found out he was a werewolf, how she’d shrieked _he’s a monster, I will not allow my son to go to school with someone like him!_

“There are no buts,” said Grenn firmly. “You’re our friend, Jon. You didn’t get angry at Pyp and I when we accidentally landed you in detention – in fact, you helped us with our homework afterwards.”

“And you didn’t stop being my friend when I admitted that I’m a coward and that I’m no good at duelling,” Sam said earnestly. “So why would I not do the same to you, over something you can’t control?”

“This is different,” protested Jon.

“I don’t see what’s different,” said Ygritte. “You’re still the same Jon who can answer every question our professors throw at you, but apparently knows nothing about his _friends_. Because if you did, you’d know that we would never ditch you over something stupid like that.”

Jon’s gaze flicked over his friends’ faces, searching for any hint of discomfort, but all he saw was sincerity. None of them looked the least bit bothered by the revelation that he was a werewolf. He couldn’t understand it. Six long years of prejudice and discrimination, of hiding his hurt and shame, had made him unused to kindness and understanding from anyone not named Stark. He’d accepted long ago that it was simply the way the wizarding world worked.

But now, looking at Sam, Pyp, Grenn, Gilly, and Ygritte remaining by his side, he could believe that maybe, he was wrong.

“Besides,” said Pyp tentatively, “I think it’s kind of cool, you being a werewolf –”

“Pyp!” Gilly rebuked.

“What? It’s a compliment!”

Jon snorted a laugh, burying the sound in the thick white blankets, but Sam appeared to have heard it anyway. His best friend nodded and gave him a tiny, reassuring smile, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jon smiled back. 

  


	2. Trapped (Throbb)

 

**Robb (Sixth Year)**

“Robb!”

Robb stopped in the middle of the hallway and glanced back to see Rickon running towards him, shoes slipping on the polished floor and black-and-yellow tie flapping in his face. He was a bit surprised to see his little brother – lately Rickon had been spending most of his time with his fellow Hufflepuff students rather than his siblings.

“Hey Rickon,” greeted Robb as his brother skidded to a halt in front of him. “What’s up?”

“I need to show you something,” said Rickon without preamble.

Robb blinked. “Now? But I’m meeting Theon in the library –”

“It has to be now. Come on,” Rickon urged, grabbing Robb’s hand and tugging him down the corridor.

Seeing no other choice – Rickon was always determined to get his way – Robb let him lead the way down the stairs, past the Great Hall, and into an empty classroom. Frowning, Robb looked around the room Rickon had chosen. The only thing that distinguished it from every other classroom was a thick yellow curtain dividing the room in half, blocking the back of the classroom from his view.  

“Did you want to show me a spell or something?” asked Robb.

He glanced back at the doorway in time to see Rickon tap his wand against the doorknob. It locked itself with a faint click and Robb’s eyes narrowed uncertainly. “Rickon, what –” 

Rickon whistled once and the curtain was brushed aside, revealing what looked like almost half of Hufflepuff House standing in formation with their wands out.

As the realization of the trap he’d just walked into set in, his brother strode towards him, idly twirling his wand in one hand. Despite the fact that Rickon was only in his second year, Robb knew he’d been getting duelling lessons from Arya since before he started attending Hogwarts, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly intimidated by his little brother at that moment.  

“Et tu, Rickon?” he sputtered.  

“Look, this is nothing personal,” said Rickon, stopping a few feet away from him. “It’s just that Theon told us he and you are now dating.”

“Yes, we –” Robb started.  

“But only a few weeks ago, you were dating Jeyne Westerling.”

“Yes, but –”  

“So how do we know you’re not going to break up with Theon and start dating someone else a few weeks later?”

He sighed. In hindsight, Robb should have expected to get the shovel talk from the Hufflepuffs. He’d completely forgotten about the time Theon’s ex-boyfriend Ramsay had been ‘mysteriously’ injured badly enough to warrant a stay in St. Mungo’s for the entire school year, and how the Hufflepuffs grinned evilly every time the subject was brought up. 

He couldn’t believe _Rickon_ was the one commanding his interrogation, though.

Robb looked Rickon directly in the eye. “I’m not going to break up with Theon,” he said seriously. “He’s still my best friend and I’d never hurt him that way. Besides, I…I think I’ve always liked him as – more than a friend. I just never really realized it until recently.”

He held his breath as Rickon cocked his head to one side and assessed him. A few more tense moments passed, then Rickon motioned for the Hufflepuffs to lower their wands. 

Robb breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you –”

“I’m not done with you yet,” said Rickon, stepping forward and poking Robb in the chest with his wand. “I’m going to trust you because you seem like a good guy and all –”

“Er, I’m your _brother_ , shouldn’t you know that by now?" 

“– but Theon is our hero,” continued Rickon, completely ignoring Robb. “More than that, he’s our family, and family has to stick together. So if you hurt Theon, we’re going to find you, and we’ll have to hurt you too.”

“…Rickon. I. Am. Your. Brother. That makes _us_ family.”

Rickon waved a dismissive hand. “That’s by blood. Which is important, but so are House families. Hufflepuffs are loyal to their own, and anyone who hurts Theon is our enemy – even if their name is Stark.”

Robb took a step away from Rickon’s wand, which was starting to shoot off little gold sparks from the tip. “Okay. If I don’t treat Theon well, I’m going to end up worse than Ramsay. Got it.”

To his surprise, Rickon grinned. “Not worse than him. He was deliberately mean to Theon, so we were deliberately mean right back to him. But you’re Theon’s friend – if you’re mean to Theon, it will probably be accidental.”

Maybe it was Robb’s imagination, but it sounded like his twelve-year-old brother just threatened to set him up in an accident if he ever broke Theon’s heart.   

“If it helps, this is the only shovel talk you’re going to get,” said Rickon. “Right now, Theon’s getting one from Jon and Arya, and both Sansa and Bran are planning on talking to him later today.”

Robb stared at him. “You mean Theon is getting the shovel talk from _four_ people, and I’m trapped by _half of the Hufflepuff students in the school?”_

“Yep,” said Rickon, entirely too cheerfully. “Only because the other half thinks you’re too nice to ever hurt Theon.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you two will be all right,” admitted Rickon. “You’ve both been disgustingly in love for years, according to Sansa. And even I can’t believe you were both oblivious for that long with the way you look at each other. But after the whole incident with Ramsay, we vowed that the next person Theon dated would be warned of what happens to those who hurt him." 

“Yeah, I think that message has sunk in by now,” said Robb dryly.

“Good.” Rickon nodded once before beckoning for the other Hufflepuff students to follow him out of the classroom. Just before walking out the door, he turned back and called out, “Oh, I almost forgot – Asha mentioned that she wanted to _talk_ to you after your Charms class. So it’s actually two shovel talks you’ll be getting.”   

Robb paled as Rickon left the room with his fellow Hufflepuffs trailing after him. He never thought he’d envy the people on the receiving end of his siblings’ shovel talks, but he was pretty sure they weren’t half as terrifying as Theon’s fanatically devoted Hufflepuffs and an even-more-protective-now Asha Greyjoy.

_I am never telling Theon that I'm slightly scared of his sister and House._

 


	3. Son (Gen)

 

**Theon (First Year)**

“We’re here, lad,” said Professor Seaworth, his voice cutting through Theon’s sleep. He jerked awake, blinking rapidly at the sudden change of scenery outside the window. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was leaving King’s Cross station in what his Head of House said was a “car” – now they were in a quiet Muggle neighbourhood that Theon had never seen before.   

Professor Seaworth pulled up at the second house on the left and parked on the driveway. Theon reached for the small bag containing his things and clutched it tightly to his chest as he stepped out of the car. He looked around with wide eyes as Professor Seaworth led him up the cobbled front steps and past a small onion garden, then unlocked the front door.

Theon followed him inside the modest two-story residence. The interior was very different from his family’s house – instead of dark painted walls with similarly coloured furniture, it was light and airy. The large windows were partially covered by sheer green curtains, enough that the glare of the sun wasn’t too harsh but the natural light was still filtering through.

“The spare room is upstairs, second door on the left,” said Professor Seaworth as he hauled his belongings towards the back of the house “You can leave your stuff there and look around, if you’d like.”

Theon nodded and walked up the stairs, crossing the carpeted floor and entering the bedroom his Herbology teacher had pointed out. He’d expected the spare room to be painted white, with a simple bed and maybe some furniture, so he was surprised to see the bright blue walls, fluffy bed, and bookshelves overflowing with children’s stories.

He dumped his bag onto the plastic chair in the corner and sat heavily on the bed. Theon found it hard to believe he was actually here, in one of his professor’s house. It was a last-minute thing that Professor Seaworth had organized after he’d found Theon crying alone in his dormitory – after Theon’s father had learned he was Sorted into Hufflepuff, he’d sent him a Howler that Theon was pretty sure he would remember till the day he died. It had scared Theon enough that he’d stayed at school during the Christmas and Easter breaks, but he wasn’t allowed to stay throughout the summer.

Robb had offered for him to stay at his house, but only in August because the Starks were going away in July. Theon had thought he would have to go home and endure his father’s ire and brothers’ taunts for at least one month. When he’d spilled the story to Professor Seaworth, his Head of House had simply nodded and somehow convinced Professor Baratheon to let Theon stay with him for the entirety of July.

A crash from below prompted Theon to leap from the bed and scurry back downstairs. He found his professor in the kitchen, standing over a broken vase. Ceramic splinters littered the ground like dust.

“Oops,” said Professor Seaworth as they both eyed the shards of pottery on the tiled floor. He quickly waved his wand over the pile and the pieces flew back together. Theon shifted awkwardly on the spot, his gaze flicking anywhere but at his teacher.

Professor Seaworth must have caught his nervous movements. “Is there something you want to ask, lad?”

“Er…” Theon hesitated. “It’s just, the spare room you told me to go to – it looks like it’s someone else’s room?”

Understanding flashed in his professor's eyes. “Ah. No, no one’s using that room. Not anymore.” At Theon’s look of confusion, he clarified, “It was my son’s room.”

“Oh.” Theon didn’t miss the past tense of the sentence.  

“It’s been like that for about a year now, but…I haven’t brought myself to clean out the room yet.” Professor Seaworth lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I probably should get around to it soon.”

“I – I could help?” Theon blurted.

Professor Seaworth looked at him in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I mean, since I’ll be staying here for one month,” he said quickly. “And if you’d rather, er, not do it alone. I could help you.”

His Head of House continued to stare at him unblinkingly. Theon swallowed, wondering whether he’d overstepped some boundary he wasn’t supposed to cross. Maybe people weren’t supposed to offer their help in cleaning the place where they were staying. The only slight experience he had in that regard was shortly after his mother’s death – he’d tried asking his father what he would do with her belongings and Balon had shot him a withering glare that ensured he didn’t ask again.

Professor Seaworth didn’t look angry, though. He seemed – grateful?

“You don’t have to, but if you’d like –” he began.

Theon nodded earnestly.

“Then you’re welcome to,” his professor said, his voice sounding a little choked to Theon’s ears. He took a step towards Theon, but the edge of his robes got caught on the vase and knocked it back onto the floor. Both of them flinched at the unexpected crash.

Before his professor could mend it again, Theon drew out his own wand and pointed it at the ceramic fragments. “Reparo,” he said firmly.

The broken pieces joined back together and Professor Seaworth threw him a look that was part disapproving and part amused. “You do know you’re not supposed to use magic outside of school.”

“Asha said that if an adult is in the room, the Ministry can’t tell who cast the spell,” Theon said quietly.

Professor Seaworth sighed. “She’s right,” he admitted. “I doubt Robert Baratheon would care much about one youngster using basic magic, anyway. Still. Don’t do it again.”

Theon chewed on his lip, then asked tentatively, “Is it okay if I use some magic while cleaning the room?”

His professor sighed again. “…I suppose it will speed up the process. But don’t tell the Headmaster.”

“I won’t,” said Theon with a small grin, and he followed Professor Seaworth up the stairs and into the room. 

 


	4. Flower (Trycella)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Trycella their ship name? I'm not sure, but it's cute and I'm keeping it ;)

 

**Myrcella (Fourth Year)**

“This is stupid,” Arya proclaimed.   

Myrcella sighed. “Do I want to know how this is stupid?”

Arya gestured at the Flutterby bush in front of them, similar to all the other bushes their fellow classmates were working on. “I don’t care about how to properly prune a stupid Flutterby bush! I have better uses for my time.”

“Don’t let Professor Seaworth hear you say that,” said Myrcella warningly.

Arya glanced at their Herbology professor at the back of the greenhouse. “So what if he hears me? It’s the truth.”

“Well, _the truth_ could land you in detention. Again. And if you get another detention, and if it’s on Saturday –”

“Damn it, I have Quidditch practice,” Arya finished. She eyed their Flutterby bush in distaste. “ _Fine._ Let’s get this over with.”

Before Myrcella could tell her that Flutterby bushes were sensitive and that _getting the work over with_ would not end well, Professor Seaworth clapped his hands to draw the attention of the class.

“Who remembers the special properties of a Flutterby bush’s flowers?” he asked.

Myrcella raised her hand, and he nodded at her. “Their flowers bloom only once every century.”

“Excellent, Baratheon. Ten points to Slytherin.” Professor Seaworth gestured at something in front of him, and Myrcella had to crane her neck to see what he was pointing at.

What she saw made her gasp. The Flutterby bush in front of her professor was covered in large, deep blue flowers, standing out against the plant’s pale green leaves. Somehow, the colours seemed even brighter than the detailed drawings in her Herbology textbook. Many of the other Slytherin and Ravenclaw students had similar reactions to her, looking shocked and delighted by the rare appearance of the flowers. 

“What’s so special about it?” asked Arya, looking completely unimpressed.

“Didn’t you hear me?” whispered Myrcella. “A Flutterby bush only blooms about once a century!” 

“So? There’s a bunch of blue flowers that look exactly like it in my neighbour’s garden." 

Myrcella rolled her eyes as Professor Seaworth continued. “Martell is lucky enough that his Flutterby bush has chosen today to begin blooming, and it will likely continue to flower for the rest of the week…” 

She tuned him out – she already knew all that information by heart, anyway – and moved her gaze to Trystane Martell, who was standing beside his Flutterby bush, a lazy smile on his face. The Ravenclaw badge pinned to his robes matched the dark blue hue of the Flutterby bush’s flowers. The gloves he was wearing were covered in dirt from the bush's soil, but he didn't seem to care as he brushed a stray lock of black hair out of his face without taking them off. 

“You’re staring,” said Arya without bothering to lower her voice.

Myrcella tore her gaze away from Trystane, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushing too badly. “Do you have to say that out loud?” she hissed.

“Consider it payback for the time you told Gendry I wanted to talk to him even though I had nothing to say to him.”

“That didn’t stop you from talking to him for nearly an hour.”

Arya punched her shoulder, and Myrcella had to suppress a smile when she lightly shoved her back. 

Professor Seaworth finished his lesson on Flutterby bushes – “Finally,” Arya groaned – and dismissed the class. Myrcella slung her bag back over one shoulder and walked with Arya to the door, but before she could actually step through the doorway, a voice behind her called out, “Hey, uh, Myrcella?”

Myrcella stopped and looked back. Trystane was still hovering near his Flutterby bush, twisting his tie between his fingers and looking directly at her. Looking around, Myrcella noticed that everyone except for them three had already left the room. Arya must have realized the same thing, because she threw Myrcella a bright grin and said cheerily, “I’ll meet you in Potions.” 

Myrcella opened her mouth – she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, maybe _wait_ or _you can’t just leave me here, it’s against our unwritten code_ – but Arya had already darted out of sight.  

She swallowed and turned back to face Trystane. “Yes?”

“I won’t keep you long,” he began. “I just wanted to give you this.”

He tossed a long, thin object towards her. Myrcella barely caught it, her fingers fumbling the catch before closing around its slightly fuzzy texture. Glancing down, her eyes widened upon seeing the narrow green stem and its vibrant blue flower. 

“You plucked this from the Flutterby bush?” she asked. “He won’t be happy if he finds out.”

“He won’t find out,” said Trystane easily. “Their flowers grow back in the span of –”

“Twelve hours, I know,” finished Myrcella. She twirled the flower in one hand, admiring the way the small petals caught the sunlight. “Any particular reason you’re risking our Herbology professor’s ire for the sake of giving me a flower?”

He shrugged, but his mouth was curling into a smirk. “You seem to like Herbology, a fact that my sisters confirmed. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Hmm.” She continued to study the flower. “It’s dark blue, though – _your_ House colour. Surely there’s a Ravenclaw student who’s just as interested in Herbology who’d appreciate it as well.”

“I didn’t…” For the first time, a hint of red bloomed on Trystane’s cheeks. “It’s not a Ravenclaw girl that I like enough to risk Professor Seaworth’s ire.”

Myrcella understood the unspoken implication and smiled softly. “I see. I mean – thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Trystane, grinning back. She absentmindedly noted that he looked even more handsome when he was obviously happy.

Since Trystane didn’t appear to be saying anything more, she tucked the flower into her school bag, carefully arranging it so that the flower was visible from under the bag’s overlap. She glanced back up at him through her lashes and said slowly, “Well, I have Potions class now, so I’d better go –”

“Wait,” he blurted before she could move. “Can you – if this is too personal, you don’t have to answer, but – what did it smell like to you?”

Myrcella’s eyebrows rose. It _was_ a rather personal question, considering that she and Trystane had spoken perhaps three or four times before today, but her answer wasn’t a very instrospective one.

“It smelled like the sea,” she answered honestly.

Oddly enough, Trystane didn’t look very surprised by her answer. “Interesting,” he said, nodding to himself. When Myrcella gave him a questioning look, he waved it off. “It’s just – a Ravenclaw thing. Knowing things.”

“Technically, that’s a Slytherin trait, too,” Myrcella couldn’t help pointing out.

Trystane chuckled. “It is, isn’t it? Huh. Perhaps you ought to have been in Ravenclaw. I think you’d have fit right in, not to mention the Flutterby bush flower would actually match.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “No offense, but I’m glad to have been Sorted into Slytherin.” She hadn’t always been – she’d originally wanted to be in a different House from her mother – but now? Now that she had Arya and Asha, Elia and the other Martell girls who'd helpfully introduced her to their brother Trystane, she embraced the challenges and triumphs Slytherin House had brought her. 

“None taken,” said Trystane. “And for the record…I think you’ve done very well there. In Slytherin, that is.”

Myrcella felt the beginnings of a blush threatening to overtake her face. “Er, thanks.”

He grinned again, but it melted away when he checked his watch. “Damn, you’d better hurry to your Potions class. Professor Luwin doesn’t like latecomers.”

Myrcella glanced at the time and winced. “Right, well, see you later?”

“Of course," he said earnestly. 

She gave him a quick wave before rushing out of the room and turning the corner – and nearly colliding with Arya, who was leaning against the wall and wearing a smug smile.

“That took longer than I thought it would - we’d better get to Potions,” said Arya, pushing herself off the wall and swiftly matching her strides to Myrcella’s.

“You were eavesdropping on us the whole time, weren’t you?” Myrcella asked wearily as she ran.

Arya pulled a disgusted face. “I did, but it was too sappy. So you don’t have to worry about me listening in ever again.”

“Small mercies,” Myrcella muttered.

“Although…” said Arya, gesturing the blue flower poking out from Myrcella’s schoolbag, “I’m definitely remembering that for future teasing, and possibly blackmail, oppurtunities.”

Myrcella levelled her best friend with a mock glare. “Really?” she countered with a smirk. “Remind me later to tell Gendry that you’d prefer a Fanged Geranium.”

“What – I don’t want a bloody flower, especially not from Gendry!”

Myrcella stifled a laugh as Arya swiped at her shoulder, the two of them still dashing down the corridors, and knew for certain that even if she could, she wouldn’t change a thing.  

 

 


	5. Missing (Gen)

 

**Shireen (First Year)**

Shireen had always loved books. Once she started reading a good one, she became completely absorbed and it was difficult to pry her attention away from it - especially when she managed to snag her favourite armchair near the fireplace and curl up amidst the fluffy cushions at the end of the day. But when the Hufflepuff common room was abuzz with far more chatter than normal, even she took notice.

With a sigh, Shireen closed her Transfiguration book and looked up. What seemed to be the majority of her fellow Hufflepuff students were clustered near the centre of the room, their worried tones filling the large room like a multitude of echoes in a canyon. She suspected that whatever was agitating the Hufflepuffs was the same thing that had been upset the rest of the school as well; students from all four Houses had seemed distressed throughout the entire day.

She reached out a hand and tugged on the sleeve of the first person to walk past her chair, which turned out to be the Hufflepuff prefect Jeyne Westerling. When Jeyne glanced down at her questioningly, Shireen blurted out, “What’s all the commotion about?”

Jeyne bent down and replied in a low voice, “Everyone who brought a pet cat to school - their cats went missing last night. All of them. And no one has any idea where they are, not even the professors.”

Shireen’s brow furrowed. “But there must be over two dozen cats in total,” she said. “How do that many cats just suddenly disappear?”

Jeyne shrugged. “Nobody knows. But understandably, every student who owns a cat is rather upset.”

Shireen thought _upset_ was a bit of an understatement - the younger students were alternating between sobbing for their lost cats and raging at whoever the perpetrator was.

“If anyone asks, though, tell them not to worry; I'm sure we'll find them soon enough,” said Jeyne a little too cheerily as she straightened. “That many cats can't stay hidden for long.”

Reading so many books had made Shireen good at reading people, and it was obvious to her that when Jeyne said _soon enough_ , she wasn't convinced by her own words. But she didn't comment on it, and when Jeyne walked away Shireen regretfully relinquished her armchair near the fireplace and headed towards the girl’s dormitory, figuring it’d be easier to finish her book in the peace and quiet of her bed.

“Shireen! Hey, wait!”

Shireen stopped in her tracks as Rickon Stark broke away from his conversation with four other Hufflepuffs and ran to intercept her. He stopped in front of her, panting, and Shireen eyed him expectantly.

Rickon bit his lip, an unusually nervous gesture from the typically bold Hufflepuff, and asked hesitantly, “Can I stay in your dormitory tonight?”

She blinked - that was definitely not what she’d been expecting to hear. “Er, why?”

“Tommen,” he said shortly, as if that was supposed to enlighten her. Shireen continued to stare at him, waiting for him to continue, but all he said was, “I just need to sleep there. And do my homework. I’ll still use the boys’ bathroom and everything - it’ll be like I’m not even there.”

He paired the plea with his best puppy-dog eyes look, and Shireen didn’t even bother trying to resist - she knew any attempt at resistance would be futile.

“Fine,” she exhaled, and Rickon’s eyes brightened instantly. “I’m holding you to that, though; I have reading to do, and I don’t want you yelling about...about whatever you usually like to yell about.”

Rickon nodded earnestly. “I promise.”

Shireen gave him one last scrutinizing look before nodding and turning back around, walking towards the girl’s dormitory with Rickon padding after her. Pushing open the round door, she climbed through it and strode inside the second year girl’s dormitory. There were three beds for the three Hufflepuff girls in her year, but the other two girls were afraid of the cursed scar tissue on the left side of Shireen’s face that no magic could remove, and the only time she ever saw them was on the other side of the classroom and when she woke up early in the morning. She dropped her book on the patchwork quilt covering her wooden bed and glanced back at Rickon, who was inspecting the room with a little more interest than Shireen was comfortable with.

“Please don't mention to any of the professors that I let you stay in here,” she added as an afterthought. “I'm not sure that you're allowed to be here - I think the other Houses have magic in place that don't let boys into the girls’ dormitory.”

“Okay,” said Rickon as he bounded onto the bed closest to hers. Shireen settled onto her own bed, arranging the pillow into a more comfortable position and re-opening her book. 

She had been fully prepared to be bombarded with questions and random statements during her reading, but to her surprise Rickon mostly worked on his History of Magic essay in silence, only occasionally asking her for clarification of certain points. By the time she finished reading, Rickon had actually completed all three feet of his essay and was busy charming his quill to zoom around the dormitory like a tiny fluffy broomstick.

Rickon twirled his wand, sending the quill flying into her lap, and asked, “Why are you looking at me like I swallowed a Chocolate Frog whole?”

“I am not,” she denied, but at his pointed look she relented and admitted, “I didn't expect you to actually do your homework and be quiet while I read...I'm impressed.”

He flashed her a gap-toothed smile. “I can be good when I want to. Which isn’t often, mind you, but still.”

Shireen huffed a laugh as she picked up his quill and tossed it back to him. “And you wanted to be good this time?”

“Well, I figured that if I was my normal disruptive self, you’d kick me out,” said Rickon. “So I was very motivated to actually behave.”

She frowned as he stood up and moved his belongings under the bed before tucking his wand back into his sleeve and pointing at the doorway. “I’m just going to go grab my pajamas and use the bathroom in the boys’ dormitory," said Rickon easily. "I'll be right back." 

“Hang on a second,” she called out before he could take another step. “When I asked you earlier why you needed to stay here so badly, all you said was ‘Tommen.’ My cousin’s not so bad that he's the sole reason you would need to sleep away from him. Did you have a fight with him or something?”

“No, not really," said Rickon. "And I know nothing’s wrong with Tommen - I like him and he’s a good friend. He’s just a little too obsessed with cats for my tastes.”

Shireen’s mouth fell open, and it took a few seconds for her to choke out, “What’s this about cats?”

“Oh, a few days ago Tommen was complaining about how his mother wouldn’t let him bring all his cats to school,” said Rickon with a careless shrug. “I joked that he could always steal everyone else’s cats, but then he actually did that somehow and now there’s cats all over our dormitory. Which means I have cat hair all over my clothes, cat litter under my bed, and I can’t sleep at night with all the meowing." He rolled his eyes. "That's why I hoped you'd let me stay here tonight so I could actually get some work done and sleep, and maybe tomorrow I'll be able to convince Tommen to let go of his bloody attachment to cats that _don't actually belong to him_ before your dad finds out." 

"Wait -" Shireen tried to think of an appropriate response to all the information Rickon just revealed. "So, you mean -"

"Yeah," said Rickon, grinning widely. "So thanks again, really, for letting me sleep over!" 

With a wink and a wave, he turned and left, leaving Shireen staring after him in shock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably revisit this situation one day from either Rickon or Tommen's POV because I had originally planned for the cats to actually appear, but that didn't work out...


	6. Fog (Gendrya)

 

**Gendry (Fifth Year)**

The tiny light shining from the tip of Gendry’s wand flickered in the dark, casting odd shadows on the walls as he crept down the corridor without a sound. As he walked, a squeaking noise near his feet made him swing his wand downwards in alarm, but it was just a mouse, scurrying past his shoes and disappearing past him. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued on unfazed.

The first time Gendry had snuck out of the Hufflepuff common room in the middle of the night, the ominous atmosphere had nearly made him run back to his dormitory. But as he started sneaking out more often, he'd learned (mainly from Arya’s guidance) that as long as he didn't wake any of the sleeping portraits, and ducked into another hall if a patrolling teacher happened to stroll by, there was nothing to worry about.

When he approached the abandoned classroom on the third floor, he muttered “Nox” and his wand light extinguished, shrouding the corridor in darkness. He slipped it into his back pocket and reached for the door handle -

A muffled bang came from inside the room.

Gendry instantly drew his hand back, staring at the closed door in confusion. He tried to remember if he'd left anything explosive out in the open, but he always took care to lock those inside the wardrobe in the corner and he doubted he'd forgotten this one time. Maybe a teacher had decided to check on the “abandoned” room, found the brightly polished motorbikes inside, and decided to destroy them?

It was possible, Gendry realized. As far as he knew, the only teacher who knew about their takeover of the room was Professor Lannister - which wasn't surprising, considering most of the biker club’s members were Slytherins and he was their Head of House. But not every teacher would turn a blind eye like him. Gendry shuddered to think of what someone like Professor Pycelle would do to the motorcycles he'd worked on for nearly three years.

With that horrifying image in mind, Gendry swallowed hard and resolutely pushed the door open.

The only source of illumination in the room was someone’s lit wand, and it was aimed at one of the motorbikes rather than the person’s face. So Gendry couldn't see who was crouched beside the bike, but he could hear them tugging at the wires and the quiet swears as sparks flew from the exposed gears.

At the sound of the door opening, the person whipped their wand towards him, the light shining directly into Gendry’s eyes. He flinched from the sudden blindness and instinctively reached for his own wand, but froze when the other person hissed, “Gendry?”

“ _Arya?_ ” he said in bewilderment. “ What are you doing here? It's after midnight!*

“What are _you_ doing here?” she repeated mockingly. “It's after midnight!”

“Um, it's my workshop.”

“Yeah, but I was the one who first found this place to use, so I can come here whenever I want,” she countered. “And shut the door before someone overhears us, Professor Cleftjaw’s patrolling the corridors and he's already walked by here twice.”

Gendry used his foot to nudge the door shut, but rounded on Arya again. “You know I work on you guys’ bikes at least twice a week in the middle of the night,” he pointed out. “You're never here during those times and none of you ever tinker with my work, no matter how much Arianne complains about it.”

Arya sighed in obvious annoyance and tossed aside the wrench she was using. His own wrench, he realized belatedly. “I wanted to make a minor modification,” she finally replied.

Gendry’s eyebrows rose. “A _minor modification_ ,” he repeated skeptically.

“I got the idea during today’s Divination class,” Arya said eagerly.

“During _Divination class?_ ”

“Can you stop repeating every word I say?” she snapped.

Gendry held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Go on.”

Arya huffed but continued her story. “We had a lesson on crystal balls and Professor Asshai was asking all of us what we saw in them. All I saw was fog, and I told her that, but she spouted some nonsense about my Inner Eye being undeveloped.” She rolled her eyes. “Then when she looked in my crystal ball, she said I’m going to be sacrificed to her Lord of Light.”

“Professor Asshai thinks everyone will eventually be sacrificed to her red god,” sighed Gendry, “but I still don't see what this has to do with your motorcycle.”

“It’s the fog that gave me the idea,” said Arya. “When it’s foggy, you can’t _see_ anything, and one of the problems with our motorcycles is that they’re super conspicuous when we’re flying over places packed with Muggles. So what if there was a way for the bike to dispense a huge amount of fog that can envelop the bike and rider and make them undetectable to Muggles?”

Gendry stared at her. “You want to add another part to your bike - a part that can turn you and your bike into a giant floating cloud - to avoid being seen by Muggles?”

“That’s the general idea, yes,” said Arya with a nod.

“And you thought you could install that by yourself?” Gendry asked incredulously. “When the biggest thing you’ve ever installed on your bike were the tires?”

Arya’s cheeks flushed pink, but she said defiantly, “I’ve watched you work on stuff before, and I picked up on some of the tricks you use.”

“That’s not a substitute for actually learning how to work on them,” he said in exasperation. “If you just meddle with your bike without knowing what you’re doing, you could wreck the entire machine.”

Arya rolled her eyes as she stood up and backed away from her bike. “Fine. Can you install it, then?”

Gendry stepped closer and crouched beside it, inspecting whatever Arya had done to her motorcycle. Fortunately, she didn't seem to have dealt too much damage to it; just a few untwisted screws and some cut wires that he could easily mend back together.

“Muggles have a device that emits smoke, similar to what you just described,” he said. “I think they sell them at that shop in Hogsmeade that sells Muggle stuff - I can pick one up next weekend, you can cast whatever charms you want on it to make it suitable for you, and then I'll add it to your bike. It shouldn’t be that hard for me.”

A slow grin spread across Arya’s face. “That sounds perfect.”

“Yeah.” Gendry cleared his throat. “There's just one thing, though…”

Arya’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “What?”

Gendry sighed. It was a subject he always hated to discuss with anyone, but in this case he couldn't see a way out of it, no matter how much it injured his pride to ask.

“It's just that - I accidentally burned the bottom of my cauldron during Potions and I have to buy a new one,” he admitted. “That's going to use up whatever Galleons I have left, so…”

“Oh.” Arya cocked her head to one side. “Can't you - you know - ask your father for money?”

Gendry winced, but he was really glad she said ‘father’ and not ‘dad’. ‘Dad’ was a term he’d _never_ associated with Robert Baratheon, and never would.

“I don't like asking him for money,” he answered, his voice coming out more bitter than he’d intended. “Sure, when I do, he sends it via owl without question, but if ask him for anything else: a meeting, a few questions answered, anything that would involve his _time_ , he has an excuse. ‘Lad, I'm the Minister for Magic, I've got a really tight schedule so I'm afraid I don't have the time.’” Gendry snorted, and to his mortification he felt the corners of his eyes grow damp. “As if he didn't spend half his time drinking at pubs and sleeping with other women.”

Arya surprised him by moving to crouch beside him and squeezing his hand. He was completely embarrassed by his sudden ramble about his father, but Arya's strong, unwavering presence somehow comforted him. Now that he thought about it, it always had.

“Robert Baratheon may be my dad’s best friend, but he’s a shitty father,” Arya declared. “I mean, he doesn’t even pay much attention to his kids with Cersei Lannister.”

Gendry supposed Arya would know - she and Myrcella had been best friends since first year. He shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it, I guess. If he hasn’t changed by now, he’s not going too. I mean, he learned I was his son three years ago. If he was going to do something about that information, he would have already done it by now.”

“His loss,” said Arya simply. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

He glanced at the smile on her face. Despite his knowledge of all the different emotions Arya could slip on like a mask to conceal her true feelings, this one seemed genuine. It warmed his heart in a way that no one else’s words had ever done, like only Arya could flip his feelings from downcast to cheerful with such unconscious ease.

“Anyway.” Arya cleared her throat and dropped his hand. She was probably just as bad at heart-to-hearts as Gendry himself, and for some reason the thought made him grin. “That Muggle device is being attached to my bike, I should pay for it anyway. Don’t worry about that.”

“In the Muggle world, mechanics buy their own parts,” noted Gendry.

“Stubborn as always, huh?” groaned Arya, but she was smirking as she said it. “Fine. You can repay me by coming with me to Professor Seaworth’s house over the Easter break with all my siblings. Greyjoy insisted we all come and watch something called a movie, and Robb is too stupidly in love with him to refuse.”

“It’s a deal,” said Gendry, picking up the wrench Arya had thrown away and setting it safely on a desk. “Besides, movies are cool. Did Theon say which movie?”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “I think it was like Moo Land or something?”

“Mulan,” Gendry corrected with a chuckle. “Trust me, you’re going to like that one.”

Arya didn’t look convinced, but that was okay. Gendry figured that if she knew him well enough to guess how he was feeling, he knew her well enough to guess her likes and dislikes by now.

And even if some of his assumptions of her were wrong, he’d definitely enjoy getting to know her even better.

 


	7. Trick (Gen)

 

**Theon (Third Year)**

“Okay, class! Follow me!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Theon moaned as Professor Martell beckoned the third-year class towards the Forbidden Forest. It didn’t matter that it was just after noon and the sun was shining brightly overhead – the forest always gave off an ominous aura of mystery and danger. Theon didn’t like it.

“Whatever we’re doing, it’ll probably be fun,” said Robb cheerfully. “Professor Martell’s a cool teacher. He wouldn’t bring us into the forest if there wasn’t a good reason.”

“Yeah, maybe an Acromantula will come out and eat Greyjoy,” said Jon, smirking as he adjusted his red-and-gold tie. “That’s a very good reason.”

Theon whirled around. “And maybe you’ll get trampled by a unicorn,” he said waspishly. “ _After_ getting lost in broad daylight.”

“Guys, we’re falling behind,” said Robb urgently, hurriedly shooing his brother and best friend towards the forest.

Theon and Jon traded venomous looks, then followed Robb deeper into the Forbidden Forest. To Theon’s silent dismay, Professor Martell led them deep into the Forbidden Forest, deep enough until barely any sunlight could filter through the dark canopy of trees blanketing the sky. Theon wondered what the hell their teacher was planning that they needed to hike so far into the forest. As if he'd heard his thoughts, Professor Martell stopped walking and held up a hand to halt the class behind him. The bright grin on his face looked out of place in the grim atmosphere surrounding them.

“You're probably all wondering what today's lesson will be, and why we needed to tread so deep into the Forbidden Forest to achieve it. Don't worry - we’re all going to learn why very soon, some more soon than others.” He punctuated that cryptic remark with a chuckle, which did nothing to assuage Theon’s trepidation, and let out a piercing whistle. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Theon heard the sound of beating wings, and looked up just as several large winged horses descended from the sky in a swirl of black and grey. One landed right next to him, its wings buffeting his hair, and Theon backed away from it.

“What the hell is that?” he spat.

The horse snorted indignantly. Theon wasn't even sure whether _horse_ was the right word to describe the creature. Yes, it had four legs, a mane, and a tail, but horses weren't supposed to resemble skeletons as black as night, or have creepy glowing eyes that seemed to stare right through you, or stink like they’d been rolling in a pile of corpses.

Theon turned to ask what Robb thought of the weird horse-creature, but Robb’s eyes were fixed to the left of where the beast actually was, and his frown seemed to be of confusion rather than disgust.

“Is something there?” his best friend asked.

Theon paused. His head swiveled towards Jon, but Jon looked just as bewildered as Robb, and he started panicking.

_Am I hallucinating? Can my imagination possibly conjure up something this ugly?_

Professor Martell clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention and yelled, “Raise your hand if you can see the creatures that I just summoned here.”

Theon glanced around as he tentatively lifted his hand. Hardly anyone could see the beasts, apparently - two Gryffindors he didn't know, and he himself was the only Hufflepuff.

Professor Martell didn't look surprised. “These creatures here - the subject of today's lesson - are called Thestrals. Now, can anyone tell me why only certain people can see them?”

Jeyne Westerling’s hand shot into the air. “Because they're only visible to people who have seen death,” she stated.

“That’s right,” their professor said with a nod. “Ten points to Hufflepuff.”

Theon stared at the herd of Thestrals arrayed in front of the class. Unbidden, the memory of his mother’s limp hand falling from his grasp resurfaced in his mind. He remembered Asha tugging him away from his mother, the Healers at St. Mungo’s covering her body with a sheet, the hot tears dripping down his cheeks despite his father’s reproachful glare -

He was pulled from his thoughts by the snap of white teeth inches from his face.

“Shit!” he yelped, leaping away from the Thestral’s snout and stumbling into Robb.

Robb grabbed Theon’s arms to hold him steady. “What happened?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“That - that beast just tried to bite my face off!” he snarled.

To his annoyance, Professor Martell just laughed. “My Thestrals are very well-trained,” he said. “That fellow wouldn't have actually eaten your face, Greyjoy. More likely he was just trying to get your attention.”

Theon extricated himself from Robb’s hold, brushing invisible dirt off his robes and ignoring the titters coming from his classmates. Rolling his eyes, he put on a smirk and said flippantly, “I couldn't care less about its need for attention. Surely it can find someone better to pick on.”

“I don't know about that,” said Professor Martell lightly. “He looks like it's already attached to you.”

Sure enough, the Thestral had trotted up behind Theon and was now attempting to nuzzle his hair. Theon batted it away like it was an overlarge fly and was about to tell it to find some other student to bother when Robb said curiously, “What do they look like?”

Theon glanced at Professor Martell, waiting for him to answer Robb, but their teacher had started talking about the superstition surrounding Thestrals to the rest of the class and didn't appear to have heard the question.

Sighing, Theon ran his eyes over the Thestral’s bony form. “Like a black horse,” he said unenthusiastically. “With wings. And a lot uglier than regular - _can you stop that?_ ”

“What?”

“The creature is pushing me again,” grumbled Theon, pushing its head aside. The Thestral whinnied, but retreated out of Theon's personal space.

Robb tilted his head. “Maybe Professor Martell is right, and it’s trying to get your attention - hey, maybe it wants to be your friend!”

“It's an animal, not a human.”

“So? Grey Wind is my friend.”

Theon made a frustrated noise. He's forgotten about the Starks’ close relationships with their damn wolves, and their affinity for everything alive. He wouldn’t be surprised if one day Jon befriended a potted plant.

“Robb could be right,” offered Jon. “The Thestral’s doing exactly what you do when you want Robb’s attention.”

Theon shot Jon his dirtiest look. “Excuse me, I do _not_ -” He paused and eyed Robb carefully. “I don’t, right? Do that?”

“...Of course not,” Robb said unconvincingly.

Theon flushed crimson as Jon burst out laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Thestral freeze at the sound of Jon’s laughter, and start trotting back towards them.

Exasperated, Theon was about to shoo it away when an idea struck him. It was insane, but if it didn’t work, he could prove to Robb that the Thestral wanting to be his friend was also insane. And if it did work, well, Theon would still gloat, just for a different reason.

Theon made eye contact with the creature, and once he was sure he had its attention, he cocked his head in Jon’s direction. Robb was futilely trying to tell Jon that Theon did not push him for attention - which, Theon could admit to himself, may happen _occasionally_ \- and the two missed Theon’s subtle hand gesture.

So Theon could tell Jon was caught completely off guard when the Thestral nudged Jon hard enough to knock him off balance. Jon pinwheeled his arms, staring around in alarm. “Is that your Thestral, Greyjoy?”

“Yeah,” said Theon carelessly. “It’s behind you.”

Jon spun around, his eyes darting around the fog. Even if he’d realized Theon was lying, or looked over his shoulder, he wouldn’t have been able to see Thestral move closer and brush a leathery wing against the back of his neck. Jon jumped a mile into the air, and Theon snickered loudly.

“This isn’t funny, Theon!” Jon snapped as he took several paces backwards.

“On the contrary, it’s hilarious,” said Theon, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “It’s not as good as you getting trampled by a unicorn, of course, but I’ll take it. Oh, watch out for that tree.”

Jon glanced back at the nonexistent tree, which distracted him long enough for Theon to motion with his hands again and for the Thestral to press its cold snout to Jon’s cheek. Jon yelped in alarm, swiftly backing away, and Theon nearly fell to the ground laughing.

“Theon, that’s not nice,” Robb reprimanded, but the fact that he was covering his mouth with a hand to stifle his own laughter undermined his words.

As Theon wondered whether he could somehow signal to the Thestral to kidnap Jon and fly him into the clouds, Professor Martell walked over to them and frowned slightly at the display before him. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” all three of them said in unison.

Professor Martell’s gaze moved from the embarrassment dusting Jon’s cheeks, to the glee on Theon’s face, to the subdued mirth on Robb’s, and the Thestral standing innocently beside Theon. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but he merely shrugged and walked on.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Theon, reaching a hand up to pet the side of the Thestral’s head. The creature made a humming sound and seemed to lean into his touch. Its wings retracted, folding flat against its ridged back, and its shaggy black tail lashed back and forth.

“I told you it wanted to be your friend,” said Robb cheerily.

Theon smiled softly, the sort that he only ever directed at his best friend. “Anyone that would actually listen to me when I tell them to spook Jon is welcome to be my friend.”

“Excuse me?” said Jon, irritated.

“They are pretty cool, though,” admitted Theon. He scratched behind the Thestral’s ear, the way he did when he met Grey Wind for the first time, and the Thestral emitted a whining noise from low in its throat. He assumed that was a good sign.

“You don’t know how weird it is to hear them but not see them,” muttered Robb. “So. If you’re really friends with him now, you ought to give him a name.”

Theon ran his eyes over the Thestral, considering. The Thestral stared back at him until its attention was caught by Jon pulling out his wand to cast a simple Shield Charm between him and where he believed the creature was - in truth, he was facing the wrong direction again - and for a moment, the Thestral’s lips pulled back in the imitation of a wide smile, exposing its sharp yellow fangs.

“Smiler,” he decided, brushing a few fingers through the tangled black mane. The Thestral made what Theon hoped was an appreciative sound, and he grinned. “His name is Smiler.”

 


End file.
